The Case of the Constant Suicides (1941) by John Dickson Carr

John Dickson Carr's The Case of the Constant Suicides (1941) is the thirteenth novel in the Dr. Gideon Fell series, which is one of his signature locked room mysteries, but stands out due to having no less than three impossible murders – disguised as apparent suicides. Unlike the locked room specialists of today, Carr rarely included more than one impossibility in his stories and even rarer more than two. The Case of the Constant Suicides is an exception in that regard on top of being one of Carr's shortest novels that introduced me to Carr and Dr. Gideon Fell. And believe the first that made me aware of what, exactly, a locked room mystery is.

However, The Case of the Constant Suicides didn't convince me at the time that Carr was the greatest mystery writer who ever lived, but you can blame that on the cover of the Dutch translation strongly hinting at a key-part of the solution (i.e. practically giving it away). I also hate the Dutch title, De moordenaar was een Schot (The Murderer Was a Scot). Why not something like De familie die zichzelf vernietigde (The Family That Destroyed Itself)? Anyway, enough time has passed for a second read. This time in English.

The Case of the Constant Suicides begins with Alan Campbell, a youngish professor of history, boarding a train bound for Scotland where has been summoned to attend family business concerning his late uncle, Angus Campbell – who recently died under questionable circumstances. Not that Alan has ever heard of Uncle Angus or Castle of Shira on Lock Fyne. Alan is not the only distant relative summoned or the only Campbell on the train. When returning to his compartment, Alan finds a pretty woman, Kathryn Campbell, who's not only a fellow historian but a distant cousin. So they end up having to share the compartment and sit up all night as there are no other compartments available, which in 1941 was open to misinterpretation and gossip. Which sets the surprisingly comedic tone for a story taking place in a gloomy, Scottish "castle." More on that in a moment.

When they arrive, Alan and Kathryn find out that the death of Angus Campbell caused some problems. The family lawyer, Alistair Duncan, is arguing with Walter Chapman, of the Hercules Insurance Company, over Angus' life insurance policies. Several of them constituting the whole of his assets ("the whole of them, sir") which naturally came with iron-clad suicide clauses. And it has all the appearance that he committed suicide.

Angus usually slept in a room at the top of the house's tower, "sixty-two feet high" with "conical roof of slippery slate," where he leaped from the window in the middle of the night and only found the following morning at the foot of the tower – leaving behind an empty room locked and bolted from the inside. The window is, of course, completely inaccessible. So a clear case of suicide, but what about the empty dog carrier found in the room? Something that definitely wasn't there before he locked himself in? And that's from it! The nearly 90-year-old Aunt Elspat, "supposed to be rather a terror," is a loyal reader of the Daily Floodlight (“that filthy scandal-sheet”) and asked a reporter to come down to Shira because to make some "sensational disclosures" regarding a murder. The reporter in question, Charles Swan, proves to be a pain in the neck for Alan and Kathryn. Swan overheard their historical discussion in their train compartment and completely misinterpreted it ("who is this dame from Cleveland, anyhow?"). And, on the night of the murder, Angus received a visitor, Alec Forbes, in his tower room. Forbes, who fancies himself an inventor, collaborated with Angus on a wildcat scheme with predicable, disastrous results. So he came to have it out with Angus in private, but what happened with the inventor since then? This is still only the beginning of this very short novel.

Like I said, The Case of the Constant Suicides is not only one of Carr's shortest novels and surprisingly comedic in tone considering the Dr. Fell series abandoned the farcical comedy of The Blind Barber (1934) in favor of darker, more serious tone. Carr carried the Punch and Judy slapstick and chase comedy over to the Sir Henry Merrivale series, published under his "Carter Dickson" penname, but the humor here is not the usual hit-or-miss, Punch and Judy slapstick comedy. There are some off-page drunken antics with claymores and shotguns, but it's mostly the type of situational comedy associated today with classic British comedy series. Carr obviously was a better mystery writer/plotter than a comedian and his attempts at comedy either works (The Punch and Judy Murders, 1936) or dies a death (The Eight of Swords, 1934), but here it definitely worked and makes the story standout more than the plot itself. For example, I really enjoyed the story's opening in which Alan recounted his feud in the Sunday Watchman with an author who had a problem with his book review to finding another Campbell in his train compartment.

However, the plot is, uncharacteristically of Carr, very uneven. Firstly, there are the two impossible falls from the tower. The second victim is Angus' brother and heir, Dr. Colin Campbell, who decides the spend the night in the room after a ghost is seen standing in the window and is seriously wounded when he falls out of the window during the night. The solution to the (attempted) murders in the tower is ingeniously simple and particularly the role of the empty dog carrier found inside the room. Something that should have reeked of the worst of the pulps, but convincingly presented and handled. Unfortunately, the same can't be said about the third, entirely different, locked room situation. Dr. Gideon Fell finds one of his potential suspects dangling from a rope at a remote cottage, bolted from the inside and windows covered with a wire mesh, but the locked room-trick is shockingly second-rate – begging the question why Carr even bothered to make it a locked room mystery. I lavished praise in the past on Carr's nearly unmatched skills to rub the truth in your eyes with one hand and pull the wool over your eye with the other (e.g. The Problem of the Green Capsule, 1939), but even that was uneven and a little spotty. I know that's not a widely held opinion.

I admit that the casually uttered line (SPOILER/ROT13), “uvpu Pnzcoryy ner lbh,” is a brilliantly delivered clue, but didn't think the clueing or misdirection was, on a whole, up to Carr's usual high standards. And the identity of the murderer is, perhaps, a bit too obscure. I actually remembered (ROT13) Fjna jnf gur zheqrere naq gur fprar jvgu gur cubgbtencu nyohz nccrnerq gb fhccbeg zl fubqql zrzbel. Jul ryfr pnhfr fhpu na boivbhf qvfgenpgvba jura rirelbar jnf jngpuvat ng n cvpgher bs Eboreg Pnzcoryy, “Pevcrf, jung n ornhgl! Jub'f gur tbbq-ybbxvat jbzna?” Once again, I know I'm in the minority here and The Case of the Constant Suicides is not a bad detective novel. On the contrary. It's one of Carr's best paced, tightly packaged detective novels with some genuinely funny humor and character interactions, but plot-wise, not anywhere near as good as some of Carr's better (known) work. Carr has written at least twenty, or so, mysteries that I would pick for a top 20, before The Case of the Constant Suicides would come up for consideration. Once again, not a bad detective novel, one that would have perhaps worked better as a standalone, but not a bad locked room mystery. And had someone else's name been on the cover, I would probably regard a bit more highly. But have come to expect better from the grandmaster himself.

So, yeah, a John Dickson Carr review not thick with praise or hero worship. No wonder it reads back like a mess. Well, more messy than usual. I'm in new territory here and feel like I should do some kind penance to wash away the sin and exorcise those impure thoughts. Maybe I'll revisit one of the early Merrivale novels sometime soon.